


We Tried the World

by sokovianaccords (eurogirl)



Series: Play It Again [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (but only briefly) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Inhumans (Marvel), Portland Oregon, Post-Captain America: Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurogirl/pseuds/sokovianaccords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in the post-war lives of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Tried the World

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW I'm supposed to be working on Special Relationship, but hopefully this will tide you over for a while
> 
> Title and inspiration for this fic come from "Jackie and Wilson" by Hozier

_i._

The strangest thing about the serum was his inability to get drunk. Yes, it changed his physiology at the DNA level, but he got used to the height and the muscles and the strength and the health. He never could get used to the ability to consume alcohol and never feel the effects. It sucked, especially on days like this one, where he just wanted to forget.

Steve sat in a bar, full beard scratchy against his face and his hair a dark brown. The bottle of whiskey sat in front of him, almost mocking. When he couldn’t feel the alcohol, the taste was actually terrible. But he didn’t stop, hoping that maybe the next sip would be the one to tip him out of sobriety into…anything else, really.

Despite the modern fashions of the customers and the TV in one corner, discussing the fallout of the Civil War and how on earth the world would rebuild itself yet again, this all felt much too familiar for Steve. He was reminded of another bar—one without people and a roof—another bottle of whiskey, another lifetime ago. He was mourning then, too, feeling too old for his own skin. He had never felt young, really. Before Cap, he was always a few steps from death, which had the tendency to age a person. Then, during the war, he was riding high on adrenaline and new-found power, but the weight of responsibility and lives lost weighed heavy on his shoulders. When he woke up, seventy years gone to the ice, he had never felt so out of place, ancient and alone, his friends all white-haired and wrinkled. Or gone.

And now, the new friends he had made, the home he had built for himself, destroyed by a war of their own making. The wounds were too deep, the casualties too many, the damage unfixable. So here he was, unable to drown his sorrows in another bar because of another war. He was, quite frankly, too old for this shit.

The bartender turned up the sound of the TV, ignoring Steve’s growl of displeasure, just in time to witness the coverage of his funeral. Steve had decided, after the fight that had destroyed the team and at least three major cities, that it was time for Steve Rogers to pass the mantle on to someone else. He would fade quietly from public memory, but Cap would live on, and he knew that Bucky could wield the shield even better than he had. Steve stood by his decision, but it still ripped his heart in half to watch his best friend, his _brother_ , give his eulogy with a voice rough from tears. The rest of his team stood close by, stricken looks on all of their faces.

Steve turned away from the screen, unable to watch any longer. It was all too familiar, trying to drown his sorrows in a bottle of whiskey while the world continued on, splitting at the seams, holding itself together by sheer force of will as people tried their hardest to destroy it.

And then, to make his sense of déjà vu complete, a beautiful brunette in a heavy coat walked through the door. Her lips were as red as the paint on his shield and hair perfectly styled. She even _looked_ like Peggy, but Steve knew that was impossible. He had buried her only a month before, and the grief hit him fresh once again. He groaned and closed his eyes against yet another onslaught of tears—he was really sick of crying—as he accepted that he had finally lost his mind, hallucinating a lost love that had come to offer comfort the last time the world had disappeared from beneath his feet.

Steve slowly counted to ten, eyes still closed, hoping that when he opened them again, the world would be a little steadier, his too-hopeful vision back with all the dreams he had locked tightly away after waking in this strange new century, seventy years late for his date and almost totally alone.

He opened his eyes to see that the woman had sat down across from him. Up close, she looked even more like Peggy, down to the expectant expression on her face. Almost exactly like Peggy, actually. He stared, dumbfounded.

The woman sighed heavily and signaled the bartender for a glass. When it arrived, she poured herself a generous helping of whiskey and downed it in two quick gulps. She nodded to herself and turned back to Steve, who was still frozen in his seat.

“Hello, Steve,” she said with a soft smile, and Steve knew he had lost his mind. “How are you, darling?” Her voice was exactly as he remembered it, the lilting British accent pulling him back to late-night strategy sessions and stolen moments in storage closets. Peggy was dead, he _knew_ that, but he couldn’t deny that the woman sitting in front of him was her.

Steve reached out and placed his hand over hers, and when his skin touched hers, he let out a choked sob. She was _real_ , she was _here_ , she was _alive_.

Her name came out of his mouth as barely a whisper, his throat suddenly tight. She placed her other hand over his and squeezed tightly, as if she were doing the same as him, making sure that he was real. Steve reached up and rubbed a thumb over her cheek, catching a few of the tears that were rolling silently down her face.

“This is the second time I thought you were dead, darling. You are _never_ allowed to do this to me ever again, do you understand?”

Steve nodded, still in shock. “How--?”

Peggy sighed deeply. “It’s a nasty business, Steve. Probably unethical, definitely illegal. But the very people meant to protect the world were tearing it apart, and an old friend thought something had to be done, and that I was the woman for the job. I was inclined to agree, so I consented to an experimental treatment that—well, we don’t know exactly what it does, but the idea was some sort of longevity and brain tissue regeneration, so that I could be at my best to help end the conflict before it was too late. There were some…unexpected side effects,” Peggy said ruefully, glancing at her wrinkle free hands, “and it would have been too difficult to explain how a ninety-five-year-old woman suddenly looked like she was thirty again, so we faked my death and established a new identity.” Peggy looked Steve right in the eye, her expression full of sorrow. “I am so sorry I put you through that, darling. I remember how awful attending your funeral was, and I can only imagine it felt similar for you.”

Steve nodded slightly in response, throat still too tight to form words. Peggy clutched his hand tighter in hers. “Everything was in place, and we were about to set up some sort of cease-fire meeting, but then…you died…” Peggy stopped as she started to cry in earnest. Steve jumped up and pulled his chair so that they were sitting next to each other instead of across the table. He wrapped Peggy in his arms as he started to cry too. They breathed each other in as they wept together. Somehow, they were both there, despite multiple missed chances and completely improbable odds.

Peggy quieted first, but instead of moving away to compose herself, she snuggled deeper into Steve’s arms, her own wrapped tightly around his waist. She allowed herself to indulge, to enjoy his presence in a way that she hadn’t since the war. Even when he came back, there had been so many years between them, and her health had been failing, and he had been so lost. She hadn’t wanted to confuse him or expect that things would be the same, so even though he didn’t treat her any differently, Peggy had distanced herself.

But now? They were both here, alive (a couple times over), and ready to…not start over, but maybe start again.

Peggy shifted away so that she could see Steve’s face. His eyes were red, as were hers, but his smile was blinding and there were fewer shadows behind his gaze. She reached up and gently wiped under his eye with her thumb, removing a few straggling tears. Steve placed his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her close, until their foreheads touched.

Peggy smiled a bit mischievously. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. My name is Margaret Rogers, but you can call me Peggy.” She had picked the new identity herself, and while it had been painful to use when she thought he was dead, it was amusing now.

Steve laughed, a little helplessly, a light blush blooming across his cheeks. “Steve Carter. Nice to meet you.” And with that, they dissolved into giggles, giddy with relief and joy.

_ii._

“They say that Portland is where young people go to retire, you know.”

“Well, we definitely came here to retire, anyway,” Steve said, laying in the grass as Peggy did something in the garden. He had tried to help once, but after the rose and tomato fiasco, he had been summarily banned. Instead, Steve watched as Peggy planted black irises, the sunlight glinting off her dark brown curls. He sprawled out in the grass, one arm over his eyes to block the bright sunshine, a rare treat in their often-rainy new home. “We certainly aren’t young.”        

Peggy dusted the dirt off her hands and rose to her feet, placing her hands on her hips in what Steve had lovingly dubbed her “superhero” pose. “I am well aware of how old I am, Steven. I don’t need you to remind me, especially given our age difference.” Before Steve could retort with the proper response to this ongoing debate ( _I know I’m two years older than you, but how is that relevant_ ), Peggy leaned over him and poked at his cheeks. “You’re sunburned.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Peggy—”

“Just because you heal quickly does not mean that you are invincible, darling, and besides, you should know how to deal with the sun. You’ve always been Irish, haven’t you?” Peggy turned on her heel and headed back toward their house. “I’m grabbing the umbrella.”

Steve groaned. “C’mon, Peg, not the umbrella!” But she disappeared through the door, giving no indication that she had heard or listened to his protest. He chuckled softly at the muffled swearing that drifted through the door. He hated that damn umbrella and had taken to hiding it in increasingly strange places. Steve considered running inside and wrestling with Peggy for the umbrella (wrestling matches always ended with all parties very satisfied), but he saw a glint of something in the flower bed.

Steve moved closer to the irises, enhanced hearing focused on warning him if Peggy returned. He was not allowed near the garden—the rule was three feet at all times—but there was something shiny in the dirt, and he simply couldn’t resist.

Steve plucked a small figure from the flowerbed, careful not to touch the actual flowers, and wiped it off on his shirt. The toy was red, white, and blue, with a very familiar cowl and shield and—yup—no metal arm. Which meant it was an action figure of him. A similar glint from the flower next to him caught his eye. When it was unearthed, it too was a Captain America action figure, Steve Rogers edition. As was the one on the other side. For every iris that Peggy had planted that afternoon, she had buried a miniature Cap. Some had a shield, some wore the cowl, and one was definitely wearing booty shorts that were way too similar to his original costume for his taste.

“Rather a good collection, isn’t it?” Peggy’s voice startled him, and he dropped the armful of mini-Caps all over the ground. Steve whirled around to see Peggy standing in front of him, a mischievous smirk on her lips and that _awful_ umbrella in front of her. It looked exactly like the shield he used to wield, the one that Bucky now used. It didn’t bring up painful memories _per se_ , but the few pieces of Cap paraphernalia that they had acquired served as endless fodder for Peggy’s teasing, which she took full advantage of. He couldn’t really mind, though, when she looked at him like she was now: eyes dancing, lips red even without her signature lipstick, her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. They had missed out on so many of these small moments, and the fact that they were both alive to enjoy them—in a different century, no less—still blew Steve’s mind.

“You always looked better with that thing than I did,” Steve said with a grin. Peggy’s eyes dropped to his lips, and she managed a distracted, “Agree to disagree” before discarding the umbrella and pulling Steve down to her level, hands fisted in his shirt. She planted a long, slow kiss on his lips, until he was dizzy with the feel of her. She dragged him closer, and he followed willingly, but the intoxicating kiss was cut short by a loud crack.

They both looked down to see one of the action figures in several pieces (the one with the booty shorts, Steve couldn’t help but notice), crushed underneath Steve’s foot. Peggy pursed her lips, but she was having a hard time holding in her laugh. “That was my favorite one, you know.”

Steve spluttered. “Wha—why—how—”

Peggy gave in and began to laugh. “I’ve been collecting them for _years._ They always kept my flowers safe, and they always made me feel a little closer to you. Particularly the one with the tights. That one brought back a lot of wonderful memories.” She added a wink to that last statement, and Steve colored slightly. He was very fond of those same memories, as a matter of fact.

“Your doppelgangers have always done such a good job of guarding my flowers, but I prefer to be…guarded…by the real thing.” Peggy pulled herself onto her toes and began to lay open-mouthed kisses along Steve’s neck. He groaned at the sensation and tilted his head to the side to give her better access. “What do you say, Captain? I’m feeling a little exposed here. Don’t you think you should be doing your job a little better?”

Steve pulled away and raised his eyebrow disbelievingly, but Peggy just gave him a shit-eating grin and raised her eyebrow in return. At that, he lifted her off the ground and carried her to the door. Peggy’s stomach swooped, although she could not be sure if it was from the sudden motion or the way Steve was running his lips along her collarbone. They stopped at the doorjamb, where Steve set her down and then pressed himself against her, until she was completely surrounded by his large frame. “Is this more what you had in mind?” Steve asked, his voice at least an octave deeper than it had been previously.

Peggy just reached up and ran her hand through his hair, enjoying the feel of the strands against her fingers. She smiled softly. “Perfect,” she murmured, pulling his lips down to meet hers once again.

_iii._

Steve had once told Tony that the guy who had wanted a family had gone down in the ice, and someone else had come out, but if he were honest with himself, that wasn’t strictly true. He had never thought very hard about having a family—first because of his many illnesses and lack of dance partners, then the constant fear of not surviving the war, and then waking up to a chaotic 21st century with a lack of people with shared life experience. The few times that he had allowed himself to dream of it, though, he had always imagined it with Peggy, and only Peggy. Even now, though, a family seemed like a nice dream, but he was perfectly content with what he had.

Peggy had had a family, a lifetime ago. She loved her children dearly and still kept tabs on them, of course, but she had already done the parent thing, and she was not very keen to do it again. She had Steve, and that was enough for her. They were finally getting to have the life they had dreamed about during the war, building a home together, bickering over who would do the dishes, spending lazy Sundays in bed, holding hands and shopping for groceries together. All of it terribly domestic and better than she had hoped.

(Also, though neither of them ever mentioned it, they both suspected that their…unique biology would prevent them from having biological children.)

So, life was good. They went out for microbrews and explored the food carts, trying a new cuisine every week. They rode their bikes along the waterfront and took selfies while picnicking in the park. They took long drives through the countryside and went on spur of the moment trips. They had this new chance at a life together, and they enjoyed every minute of it.

And then they met Dasha.

\---

Steve was beginning to doubt that anyone in his life really stayed dead, since Phil Coulson was standing outside their front door, holding what looked like a baby in his arms. Steve just stared, flabbergasted, while Coulson looked unsurprised, if a little chagrined.

“Hello, Captain Rogers. It’s been a while.”

“Agent Coulson? What—?”

“It’s Director now, actually, but you can call me Phil. I promise I will explain everything, but,” he motioned to the bundle in his arms, “she just fell asleep and I really don’t want to wake her up.”

“Steve, who was at the door?” Peggy shouted from inside the house, her voice hushing as she came closer and saw their visitors.

“Hello, Phil! You’ve changed since I last saw you,” she said, pointedly eyeing the baby Coulson was holding to his chest. “Well, come in.” She nudged Steve, who seemed to come out of his surprised stupor long enough to hold the door open wider and move out of the way. They stood together and watched as Coulson found his way to the living room, bouncing the baby softly and humming nonsense, trying to soothe her as she began to wriggle. Steve looked at Peggy and mouthed, _What the hell_ , but Peggy just shrugged and followed Coulson, leaving Steve gaping slightly.

\---

“Her name is Dasha,” Phil explained, looking over at the little girl who was grabbing at her toes and babbling quietly to herself. An empty pot of tea sat on the coffee table, and he was feeling a little jittery, both from the strongly caffeinated tea and the whole situation. Peggy was calm and poised, but Steve looked shell-shocked. Phil had spent the last few hours explaining everything, from his survival to the rebuilt SHIELD to his hand in Peggy’s rejuvenation, as well as why he was there at all. “Her parents were Inhumans, killed by the Russian government. As you may know, it’s not a safe place for them at the moment. We found her hidden in a dresser drawer after the fact. We think her parents hid her there when they heard that they were about to be found.”

“Oh, poor dear,” Peggy said sympathetically, watching as Dasha placed a finger on her nose and burst into giggles.

“Our base is no place for a baby, and I can’t place her in an orphanage or foster care because her genetics make her a target several times over. You two are the only ones I know who live a stable life but still have the qualifications and experience to deal with any…situation that may arise.”

Peggy looked taken aback, but Steve’s jaw was almost on the floor. “You want us to take care of her?”

Phil nodded. “I know you two are trying to remove yourselves from this world, and I respect that, but you are the _only_ ones who can do this. I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Steve and Peggy looked at each other, not sure what to do. “This is a big decision,” Peggy said finally. “Can we have some time to think it over?”

“I can give you a couple days, but not much more, unfortunately. Someone is going to notice something eventually, and we need to start on getting her official documents right away. I’ll come back Friday to take her back, if that’s what you decide, so that we can get paperwork taken care of to find her another home.” Phil knelt in front of Dasha and rubbed her cheek lightly with his finger, smiling as she grabbed it and tried to chew on it. He stood up, and Steve and Peggy followed him out, Steve holding Dasha like she was a bomb about to explode. Phil pulled a duffel bag from his car and handed it to Peggy, who took it with a doubtful expression. “Everything you need should be in there. You know how to get in touch if you need anything.”

Steve and Peggy walked back into their house as Coulson’s red convertible drove away, both lost in thought. Dasha babbled happily and patted Steve’s cheeks with her hands, making him smile and lift her a little higher so she could do the same to his nose. A curious feeling came over Peggy as she watched the two of them interact. She had always known that Steve would be an excellent father, and for a time she had dreamt of them raising a family together, but she had let go of that dream a long time ago. Now, though, they had the chance to—

Peggy shook her head, stopping that thought before it could fully form. They had a good life, and adopting a child would make that life infinitely more complicated, especially since she had dangerous people after her. They would watch her for two days and then Coulson would take her to another home, end of story. Even if Steve pointing out all the different colors in the garden to a rapt Dasha was adorable and heart-warming.

\---

Steve knew that Peggy was not in favor of adopting Dasha. He was undecided himself, but he was leaning toward keeping her. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, and they would be opening themselves to a lot of potential for danger, but the afternoon he had spent with the little girl had been amazing. He had played with her as Peggy read a book, which is what she usually did on Wednesday afternoons. He could feel her watching them from time to time as he and the baby played peek-a-boo and pat-a-cake on the floor, but she refused to join them. Steve understood, he really did, but Dasha was an easygoing and happy baby, and she had already stolen his heart with her big eyes and toothless smile.

Peggy was watching her while he cooked dinner (since he was definitely the better cook out of the two), and he could hear the music playing throughout their little house. Sam had introduced him to a lot of music, but the Troubleman soundtrack still remained his favorite, probably because it reminded him of his teammates the most. He loved his life with Peggy, but he had formed close friendships with the Avengers, and he often missed them.

He was just about the start the stir-fry when he heard Peggy laugh loudly. Steve walked into the living room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He stopped in the doorway as he saw Peggy sitting on the floor with Dasha’s hands in hers. She was balanced on Peggy’s legs, bouncing back and forth to the beat of the music. Peggy snickered as Dasha let go of Peggy’s hand to grab her nose but lost her balance and fell on top of her instead. Peggy rolled onto her back, pretending that Dasha had knocked her over, and the little girl was laughing so hard her whole body shook. Steve watched the whole scene, leaning against the door jamb, a large smile on his face. They looked so natural together, and Steve could almost believe that the little girl was actually theirs. He was struck in that moment by how much he wanted that with Peggy, and that little girl who had been given to them unexpectedly.

Peggy must have felt his gaze, because she sat up again and made eye contact with him, her own smile wide. “What are you thinking, darling?”

“You two look good together.” Steve said, a little warily, not quite sure where Peggy’s mind was.

“She’s pretty perfect, huh?” she mused, smoothing Dasha’s hair as the little girl sucked on her thumb.

“Yeah, she is.”

“Well, we’ve never been the type of people to shy away from a challenge, have we?” Peggy asked, and Steve could see that she had made a decision. The same one he had.

“I’m going to call Phil. Let him know we won’t be needing to meet on Friday, yeah?”

Peggy nodded. They had a lot to discuss and details to work out, but they knew one thing for sure: their little family had grown from two to three, and they couldn’t be more excited.

_iv._

They knew that they couldn’t hide forever.

Eventually, FRIDAY found them, using facial recognition scans that had never been turned off after the war. Tony couldn’t believe it when he saw what looked like Steve walking along the street with his Aunt Peggy as she had looked in Howard’s old photos, each of them holding a little girl’s hand. He had shown the team right away—wounds from the war would still take time to heal fully, but they had managed to find their way back to each other--and everyone else had been in similar states of shock. They had mourned Steve for a long time, and it was hard to accept that he could actually be alive, especially from a photograph.

So, they ended up in Portland, on a sleepy little street close to downtown. The walls were a light brown, the front lawn littered with toys, including a miniature replica of Captain America’s shield. They all stood on the sidewalk, indecisive and a little wary, until Bucky took a deep breath and walked up to the front door, knocking firmly. He heard the scurry of little feet and then the door opened to reveal a little girl with dark brown curls pulled into a ponytail high on her head. “Hi there. You must be Uncle Bucky. Daddy talks about you a _lot_.” She rolled her eyes, as if to tell Bucky exactly what she thought of her father’s never-ending stories.

“Is your father here?” Bucky asked, but his question was answered when Steve ran into sight. “Dasha, how many times do we have to tell you, you need to wait for one of us to open the door.” Steve pulled the little girl further inside and looked up. He froze for a moment before a huge smile crossed his face. “Heya, Buck.”

Bucky snorted. “Unbelievable. You’re a real piece of work, Rogers. I think you’re dead for six years and all you got is ‘Heya, Buck.’” To his horror, his throat closed and his eyes started to fill with tears at the sight of his best friend, his brother, alive in front of him.

“Don’t do that, Buck, c’mon. I’m fine, we’re fine, you’re gonna scare my daughter.” Steve reached out and pulled Bucky into a tight hug, which he returned tentatively, still having trouble believing it was real.

Steve felt Dasha let go of his hand and run back into the house, so he pulled away and wiped at his eyes, which had started to fill with tears too. “Damn, you have no idea how happy I am to see you. Shocked as hell, but still overjoyed.”

“Hey, stop hogging him. We haven’t seen him in years either,” Natasha called from the sidewalk. Steve looked over Bucky’s shoulder to see the rest of the Avengers, all smiling widely and a little teary-eyed themselves.

“Well, what’re you doing all the way over there?” he called back, which they took as their cue to mob him all at once. He hugged each of them, even Tony, who he clapped on the shoulder as both apology and forgiveness. It had been too long for him to hold on to his anger, and it was really good to have his friend back. All of them.

“Wait a minute,” Bucky said. “You have a daughter?” He slapped Steve upside the head.

“Dammit, Bucky,” Steve groused, rubbing the back of his head and glaring at his friend. “Yes, I have a daughter. Was that necessary?”

“Yes. Now introduce me. She clearly already knows who I am, and I would like to meet her officially.”

Steve sighed. “She knows who all of you are, actually. She loves the Avengers.”

Before any of them could respond or—God forbid—ask who her favorite was, he heard a loud clatter in the kitchen, followed by Dasha running back toward him with a squeal, Peggy close behind. “Dasha!” The little girl in question hid behind her father’s legs, still giggling, while Peggy stood there, hands on her hips, giving Steve an exasperated look. “You will never guess what _your_ daughter did.” She turned and saw Bucky, who looked like he had seen a ghost, winked at Steve, and said “Heya, Buck.”

Bucky growled. “I was going to say that it was nice to see you weren’t dead, Peggy, but I think I changed my mind.”

Peggy scoffed. “Oh please, you know you would be horribly bored without me.” She eyed the rest of the Avengers. “Well, are you all going to come in or what? The neighbors are going to talk, you know, and Steve and I will never hear the end of it.”

\---

After a delicious barbeque, the Carter-Rogers family found themselves with a yard full of Avengers. Dasha took great pride in showing Tony and Rhodey the collection of Captain America figurines that guarded her mother’s irises, much to their amusement. Clint and Sam were throwing darts at the fence. Peggy, Natasha, and Wanda were in a deep discussion about something; based on what Steve could hear, it was either the impact that the negotiations with Sokovia would have on the Avengers operation there or the best hairstyle that concealed weaponry. Bruce was taking a nap in the shade, and Thor and Vision were debating who would get to take Dasha flying first while throwing Mjolnir back and forth.

Steve and Bucky sat on the grass, finishing off the last of a huge plate of ribs. Steve fell back onto his back with a contented sigh. Bucky gave him a fond look. “Gotta say, Steve, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy. Family man looks good on you.”

Steve smiled. “It feels good, too. I didn’t think I would get to have any of this.”

Bucky eyed Steve thoughtfully. “Y’know, the shield is still available if you want it back. Can’t imagine a better person holding it.”

Across the yard, Steve saw Dasha tug on Peggy’s arm insistently. Peggy turned from her conversation and knelt down in front of their daughter, nodding along as Dasha spoke with a  very serious look on her face.

“I’m not Captain America anymore, Buck. That title belongs to you now.” He turned his head to look at Bucky, his brows furrowed slightly. “We have a life here. I work on art commissions, Peggy does codebreaking and data analysis, and we keep Dasha as safe as we can. We tried the superhero world, but look where it got us. Peggy and I have attended each other’s funerals, and we lost so many years trying to make the world a better place. With very mixed results. The sacrifices just got to be too much for us, you know?” Steve lifted himself up onto his elbows. “She and I have actually discussed this a lot. You and the rest of the Avengers will always be our family, but saving the world isn’t our jobs anymore.”

\---

After the Avengers had left, with lots of hugs and promises to visit, Peggy and Steve sat next to their garden, watching as Dasha threw her plastic shield around the yard. Her head was resting on his shoulder, with his resting on top of her hair. The sun was setting, a warm breeze ruffled their clothes, and the crickets were starting their song. Peggy let out a contented sigh, and Steve pulled her closer. He had dreamed of a moment just like this once, when he was hiding on Clint’s farm during the whole Ultron fiasco. Instead of the horror that Wanda had shown him, he had seen a picture much like this as he slept, and it was this scene that gave him the strength to finish the fight.

He had thought he had no home to go back to after the war (his war, any war) was over, and he was never so glad to be wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> "Jackie and Wilson" is one of my favorite songs, and the more I listened to it, the more it sounded like a post-Civil War Steve and Peggy trying to build a life for themselves. So, here we are.
> 
> Peggy's rejuvenation is a reference to GH 325 from AoS...I figured that if it could bring someone back from the dead, it could probably, like, turn someone thirty again.
> 
> Portland is my hometown and the greatest city on the planet, so of course they would retire there. The line about it being place where young people retire is from Portlandia.
> 
> I read a fic where agents adopted a child named Dasha, and I just couldn't get the name out of my head. 
> 
> I am terrible at writing ensemble/team fic, so I apologize that they kinda just stood there.
> 
> I am on tumblr at thesokovianaccords, if you want to come say hi! Thanks for reading!


End file.
